


Watch me!

by Malfoy_pureblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Endgame Drarry, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Oblivious Harry, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Romantic Angst, Sentimental
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malfoy_pureblood/pseuds/Malfoy_pureblood
Summary: Draco's always been pining - at first for Harry's friendship, then for something more. He keeps watching from the sidelines and desperately hoping that Harry will sooner or later realize Draco is the Only One for him. Lots of pining (and jealousy) with a happy ending for them.POV Draco.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	1. Will you be my friend?

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?” Draco inquired, although before he could get an answer, Madame Malkin proclaimed “That’s you done, my dear” and the other boy hopped down from the footstool. Pity, he was having fun and the other boy seemed a good listener.

“Well, I’ll see you in Hogwarts, I suppose” Draco said, feigning indifference while he watched the other boy pay for his robes and disappear outside.

Only after that Draco allowed himself to smile, quite self-satisfied. He surely had made a good impression on that strange boy who looked so funny - it was a pity he didn’t seem as chatty as Draco, but that was a problem that could be easily overlooked. After all, Draco loved the sound of his own voice and couldn’t wait to have someone who could listen to him all the times he wanted to express his absolutely fundamental opinion on something or somebody else. For the first time in his own life, he  _really_ hoped to see another boy again - the children of his father’s friends were all so terribly boring or stupid. Maybe this one wasn’t.

* * *

“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” Draco loudly announced as he held out his hand to shake Harry’s - but Harry did not take it.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks” The other boy said coolly.

Draco hoped the pink tinge that was rising on his cheeks would pass unnoticed under the light of the thousands of magical candles burning in the air of the Hall. 

To say that he had been so smitten to know that it had been  _Harry Potter_ the boy who had known at Madame Malkin’s! How  _dared_ he to consort with lowly  _peasants_ like Weasley when he had offered his own friendship? How  _dared_ he to refuse to take his hand in front of all the other boys? What an utter humiliation for a boy like himself! Did Potter not know what prestige the Malfoy family held? He had to be a fool to refuse his company. 

Draco Malfoy secretly swore revenge in his own heart for that affront and something died a little inside him that night.

* * *

“Look!” Draco said, delighted, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”. He held the Remembrall up and he watched it glitter in the sun.

“Give that here, Malfoy” He heard Harry say quietly. His heart beat a little faster while all the others stopped talking to watch, and the sudden desire to show himself off became greater and greater. 

He smiled nastily, thinking that maybe, after Harry saw how good he was onto a broomstick, he would reconsider the possibility of them being friends. He took a moment to fantasize about playing Seeker’s game with the other boy in the Manor’s garden, then answered coolly “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find - how about up a tree?”.

Harry got incensed, just as Draco wished him to be in order to have his full attention. “Give it here!” He yelled, but Draco had already lept onto his broomstick and taken off.

He could sense the admiration from the others and their comments and whoops - he hadn’t lied after all, he could fly well and he knew it. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak, Draco merrily taunted, “Come and get it, Potter!”.

He watched with a nasty glint in his eyes Granger - that filthy mudblood - trying to stop Harry, and secretly rejoyced when he ignored her, mounting the broom and kicking hard against the ground. In a matter of moments, Harry had turned his broomstick sharply to face him in midair. “Give it here, or I’ll knock you off that broom!” He called. Malfoy was stunned and looked maybe a bit worried. “Oh yeah?” He said, trying to sneer. Hadn’t Potter said during their first meeting that he had never been onto a broom?

He barely suppressed a shriek as Harry shot his broom towards Draco’s like a javelin and he just got out of the way in time. Caught off guard, Draco tried to downplay the situation and save his own face. “Catch it if you can, then!” He shouted, and threw the glass ball high into the air just before streaking back toward the ground.

What he didn’t expect was Potter steep diving like a crazy, suicidal man and catching the ball merely one foot from the ground, then toppling gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched in his fist. For a moment, just for a moment, his heart went crazy with terror while watching the stunt and then with a tiny bit of pity as he saw professor Mc Granitt shouting and sweeping off with Potter on her trail, but he tried to mask it behind his sneer.

He was left wondering what Potter’s punishment could have been until a couple of days later, when the other boy was officially gifted a broom and it became public domain that Harry had been accepted into his House’s quidditch team. As he saw Potter triumphantly marching towards his dormitory with his new broom proudly clutched in his hands, Draco was burning of jealousy and rage for it, and something else died a little inside him that day.

* * *

Draco was not happy at all. Not only he wasn’t too keen about wandering in the Forbidden Forest at night, he also had to do it with that bumbling idiot called Paciock and Fang, who seemed to be the most coward dog in the entire world. He had  _tried_ to be patient, he swore it, but it was not his fault if Paciock had panicked and sent up red sparks when Malfoy had sneaked up behind him and grabbed him for a joke. Well… not entirely for a joke, if he had to be honest; the effects of his actions brought him indeed what he had hoped for - Hagrid had partially switched the members of the groups, so that Draco was still saddled with Fang but had earned Harry’s company instead of Neville’s.

However, to Draco’s dismay, Harry had not been as glad as him about the switch and their half hour-long walk into the forest had been mostly silent. Draco was too proud and stubborn to talk to the other after his blatant refusal of friendship months before, although he could not avoid to secretly wonder how he could make the other boy talk to him. 

Did Harry find so undesirable to have Draco as a friend?, he mentally asked to himself. He was barely acknowledging their surrounding and the splashes of blood on the roots of a tree when the other boy stopped and held out his arm to stop him. 

“Look”, Harry murmured, and Draco’s gaze flickered down to the other’s arm instead of the clearing ahead of him. Would have it been undignified for him to take Harry’s hand while inching a bit closer?, he wondered, and he was about to do it when his gaze was nailed to the scene in front of him. Out of the shadows, a hooded figure had suddenly come crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy and Fang stood transfixed as the cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal’s side, and began to drink its blood.

“AAAAAAAAAAARGH!” Draco had not intended to let out such a girlish scream, but his courage had a limit and it was called self-preservation. He bolted with Fang as the hooded figure raised its head and looked right at them - unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. 

Only after a long run, as he met Hagrid and almost spat out his own lungs shouting at him in panic, he wondered if Harry had ran away as well and wondered if the other boy was going to judge him badly for his actions. 

* * * 

“Touch nothing, Draco.” said Lucius Malfoy, turning to his son, who was still looking lazily at the items on display. Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, was not really glad to hear that order. “I thought you were going to buy me a present.”.

“I said I would buy you a racing broom,” said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.

“What’s the good of that if I’m not in the house team?” said Draco, feeling absolutely sulky and bad-tempered. “Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He’s not even that good, it’s just because he’s famous … famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead …” The boy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls, masking from his own father the faint blush that had arisen on his cheeks while ranting so vehemently. “…everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick –” he went on, and was that a vein of melancholy the new shade that was tinging his complaint?

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Malfoy senior, with a quelling look at his son, “and I would remind you that it is not – prudent – to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear – ah, Mr Borgin.”.

For once, Draco was not disappointed to see his father’s attention turn away from him. He was aware that sometimes he complained a bit too much about his rival, but it was not easy to hide the frustration he felt whenever he thought of Harry. The less his father was able to guess about Draco’s fixation with Harry Potter, the better. He probably would have not been neither amused, nor glad to know that all Draco desired was the opportunity to hold the other boy’s hand and call him his friend.

* * *

Draco watched disdainfully as the crowd cheered and clapped and Harry was being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, the black-haired boy managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron. “You have these,” Draco heard Harry mumble to her, tipping the books into her cauldron. “I’ll buy my own –”

A flare of jealousy surged into Malfoy. How dared Potter to give presents around, to people who were worth one hundredth of Draco himself?

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” He sneered, moving himself just enough to find himself face to face with Harry. “Famous Harry Potter,” he added “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” said the Weasley girl, glaring at Malfoy. He  _knew_ it was stupid for him to react, but he also knew, deep inside himself, that jealousy made him often do stupid things.

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawled Malfoy, making Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books.  _Oh great,_ he thought,  _the mudblood and the blood traitor, how nice._

“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”.

Well, if he really wanted to start a fight, who was Malfoy to deny him this pleasure.

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” he retorted with a nasty grin “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for that lot.”.

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started towards Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket. Draco sneered and could not avoid to feel proud of himself for almost inducing the idiot to do something lowly and stupid. His pale eyes strayed to Harry and he gave him a lazy little grin.

_See?_ He seemed to silently say with his smirk.  _Do you really want to mingle with such lowborns who would gladly resort to a physical fight with people better then them? You’re my equal, Harry - come with me and you’ll see how much I can be a better friend for you._

Draco was considering adding something else for his own benefit when his father came and stood with his hand on his shoulder, sneering in just the same way towards Mr Weasley.

The younger Malfoy was not really interested in the sarcastic exchange that was currently going on between his own father and the other man, as he much preferred letting his gaze rest upon Harry’s face, still clouded in fury for Draco’s previous taints. 

_If only you’d see how much better it would be with me_ , he sighed inside his own mind.


	2. We could be so much powerful together, Potter

“D’you think – would it be all right if – can I have a picture?” Colin Creevey said, raising the camera hopefully towards Harry. 

Draco, who had been sitting not far from them in the courtyard, flanked by his large and thuggish cronies Crabbe and Goyle, could not avoid to hear the question and his gaze flickered towards Colin.

“A picture?” he heard Harry repeat blankly.

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin eagerly, edging further forwards the dark-haired boy. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead” (his eyes raked Harry’s hairline), “and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.” Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, “It’s brilliant here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you –” he looked imploringly at Harry, “– maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?”

Well well well, if this wasn’t the perfect occasion to taunt Harry a little more and pull his imaginary ponytails to get his attention. Not that he would ever admit it, obviously.

“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?” Loud and scathing, his voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin and smirked at Harry. 

_It would be fun,_ he thought,  _we could take photos together one day and sign it for everyone who ask, no, for each other - the Boy Who Lived and the Malfoy heir, think of what an awesome, powerful couple of friends we would be._ “Everyone queue up!” Draco roared to the crowd. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”.

“No, I’m not,” said Harry angrily, his fists visibly clenching. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“You’re just jealous,” piped up Colin, and damn if Draco wasn’t almost impressed. 

The boy had seen through him and he didn’t even know him. Was he this easy to read? Did he give this impression to everybody who was watching them? If so, he needed to cover up his own tracks.

“Jealous?” said Draco, who didn’t need to shout any more; half the courtyard was listening in. “Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.”

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly, as they always did when Draco decided to have fun at the expenses of someone else.

“Eat slugs, Malfoy,” said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his conker-like knuckles in a menacing way. Draco ardently wished he could order Crabbe to teach a long-due lesson to Weasley right there on the spot; however, it was not the best approach in the open space of the courtyard. Revenge usually has to be taken in private, at one’s own pleasure. 

He sneered at the redhead. “Be careful, Weasley! You don’t want to start any trouble or your mummy’ll have to come and take you away from school.” He put on a shrill, piercing voice. “If you put another toe out of line –” A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this, but it was not entirely satisfying for him. He had to show Harry that he was much better than his current friends, that he was missing a lot by not associating with Draco. 

“Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter,” smirked Draco. “It’d be worth more than his family’s whole house.”

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand and Draco felt Crabbe and Goyle tense behind him; he was sure the situation was going to get worse, had Gilderoy Lockhart not been striding towards them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. Malfoy smirked and slowly went away, stopping only at the edge of the courtyard to spare a glance to the very handsome blush on Harry’s cheeks.  _What was Lockhart telling him?_ He wondered, although this line of thought was rapidly taken over by another one. 

_I’d like a photo as well of you, Potter. It would be nice to come back this summer at the Manor and have our photo framed in my room. I have never had any real friend to take photos with and I’d like if you were the first one to be blessed with this honour._

He desperately tried not to be saddened at this thought. 

He was a Malfoy, after all. 

Malfoys did never feel lonely. 

And Malfoys did not get sad.

* * *

Draco had rapidly learned that, in order to get Harry’s undivided attention, he had to bother him to no end. It was the only way he had to try to make him understand that they were equals, that they could compete on the same level. Sure, competition could bring up some animosity, but at least Harry would  _think_ of him, would  _look_ at him, and boy how much Draco desired to be noticed by him! 

And what was the fastest way to get Harry to notice him in a fair competition?

Quidditch.

That’s why, on that lovely afternoon, several people in green robes were walking onto the pitch, broomsticks in their hands, irking Wood, the Gryffindor captain, to no end.

“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin captain. “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

“Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.” replied Flint, leering at him.

“But I booked the pitch!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”

“Ah,” said Flint, “but I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new Seeker.’”

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” said Wood, distracted. “Where?”

Draco came from behind the six large figures before him, smirking all over his own pale, pointed face. He had been waiting for this moment and he was positively radiating pride.

_Watch me, Harry!_ , he thought. _I can do whatever you do, and I’ll be your rival Seeker if this is what it takes to be watched by you. I’ll be great at it, I’ll beat you at your game and you’ll admire me._

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint, as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words “Nimbus Two Thousand and One” gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early-morning sun.

“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps,” he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives, “sweeps the board with them.” 

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Draco was smirking so broadly his eyes were reduced to slits, his gaze fixed on Harry’s face.

“Oh look,” said Flint. “A pitch invasion.”

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

“What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?”

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley” said Malfoy, smugly. What could Weasley ever understand of it? Clearly, he was no match for him. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him. 

“Good, aren’t they?” said Malfoy smoothly, sparing a little smirk for Harry before talking again to Ron. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” said Hermione sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered and his rage mounted rapidly. Had she yet to understand whom she was talking to? When was she going to understand that, despite her intelligence - not that he would ever admit that ability of her - she was and would always be beneath him? A girl come from nowhere, from parents who were nobodies, and she dared to try to belittle in front of Harry and question his own abilities! His gaze flickered for a brief moment to Harry, secretly hoping he would somehow defend him, but he was giving no sign of wanting to act in Malfoy’s defence. As always. Draco tried to hide the bitter pang of disappointment that hit him and turned again towards Hermione to retaliate.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.

Harry, despite not knowing what the appellative meant, knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, “How dare you!” and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and pointed it furiously under Flint’s arm at Malfoy’s face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards onto the grass.

“Ron! Ron! Are you all right?” squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

_Just as he deserves for trying to hit me in front of Harry!_ Malfoy thought gleefully, while the Slytherin team were paralysed with laughter. However, watching Harry’s disgusted look directed towards him and seeing the dark-haired boy going away with Weasley and Granger proved to be not satisfying at all to him. 

* * *

Something was shining on the wall ahead. Harry, Ron and Hermione approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

“What’s that thing – hanging underneath?” said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped over: there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched towards the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it.

All three of them realised what it was at once, and leapt backwards with a splash.

Mrs Norris, the caretaker’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. For a few seconds, they didn’t move. Then Ron said, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we try and help –” Harry began awkwardly.

“Trust me,” said Ron. “We don’t want to be found here.”

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

“Enemies of the heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

A rush of malignant pleasure surged in him as he noticed Harry’s gaze scrutinizing him with something akin to fascination - he knew he was had a very nice complexion when he got passionate about whatever he was talking about, thank you very much - and then dropped again as Harry’s gaze reversed again to disgust and rage.

He suddenly felt a bit thrown off and frustrated - why couldn’t Harry see that it was ill-advised to associate himself with someone less than pureblood? Why couldn’t he see that Draco - and no one else - was the fitting company for him? What else did he have to do or say to make Harry smile at him like he smiled at Weasley and Granger?

That same night, when he went to sleep in his cold bed, he dreamed of Harry walking with him, hand in hand, among the white peacocks in the large gardens of the Manor. And Harry was smiling so sweetly at him that Draco could almost feel his own heart melt.

* * *

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in mid-air to dodge the Bludger that was following him since the beginning of the match. Off Harry fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him, then he glared back at Malfoy in hatred. Then his eyes seemed to widen a little and Malfoy lost himself in that gaze. 

For a long moment, Harry hung in mid-air, seemingly lost in contemplation of the blond’s facial features, and Draco felt pleasantly surprised and very, very flattered. 

_Does he… does that mean that he fancies me?_ , he wondered elated, and flashed back at Harry his best grin. He was usually proud of his good looks, but in that moment Harry was looking at him as if he hung the stars and moon. Suddenly, in his mind, his dreams of long walks in the garden of the Manor with Harry started featuring flirty smiles, shy compliments and, why not, a couple of pecks on each other’s cheeks. Draco pulled himself out of his own daydreams and was going to say something snarky to take Harry’s attention from the blush that was creeping up his cheeks, when - 

WHAM!

The Bludger had hit Potter at last, smashing into his elbow and breaking his arm. Clearly dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side. Malfoy panicked as he saw the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at Harry’s face. However, the dark-haired boy swerved out of the way and, through a haze of rain, he unexpectedly dived for Draco’s sneering face below him.

_Is he - is he going crazy? Is he attacking me?_ Malfoy thought in a second, his pale grey eyes widening in fear. “What the –” he gasped, careering out of Harry’s way.

Harry did not follow him. He took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch, closing his fingers on the cold Snitch and then heading straight for the ground. With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom, his arm hanging at a very strange angle. 

Draco instead, after an initial wave of shock and fear, hung motionless in mid-air, desperately trying not to let all his hurt and disappointment show on his face. 

_He had not been looking at me. He had been looking at the Snitch all the time. Not me. Never me._ He thought, and if a tear of utter frustration escaped from his eyes, the rain hid it to his teammates’ sight. He had been so stupid to believe, for a moment, that Harry could have been harbouring some silly secret crush on him. And he himself had been even more stupid to even consider any form of reciprocation.

_That’ll teach me to lose my dignity over a half-blood, no matter who he is. Malfoys do not fancy less than purebloods. It will never happen again._

But he already knew that he was only trying to lie to himself.

* * *

Malfoy did not think that the so-called Dueling Club founded by Lockhart would ever be useful to him. However, since Potter’s name was on the list, he forced Crabbe and Goyle to sign with him the parchment for the adhesions. And there he was, facing Harry for their first duel.  _It’s for revenge,_ he tried to convince himself.  _Revenge for when Potter deceived you into thinking he was looking at you, when he wasn’t looking at you at all._

It was petty and childish, but he did not care at all.

“Face your partners!” called Lockhart, back on the platform, “and bow!”

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent – only to disarm them – we don’t want any accidents. One … two … three …”

Harry swung his wand over his shoulder, but Malfoy had already started on “two”: his spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he’d been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but recovered quickly, so he pointed his wand straight back at Malfoy and shouted, “Rictusempra!”

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.

“I said disarm only!” Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Draco sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing. Harry hung back, clearly unwilling to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake. Gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry’s knees, choked, “Tarantallegra!” and next second Harry’s legs had begun to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep. This caused a new burst of laughter for Draco, who for once was very glad to realize that Harry was underestimating him, as always. It gave him a good advantage.

“Stop! Stop!” screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

“Finite Incantatem!” he shouted; Harry’s feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing and they were able to look up.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologising for whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain. Both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult; she was a lot bigger than he was.

“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. “Up you get, Macmillan… careful there, Miss Fawcett… pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot…”

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?”

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.” Neville’s round pink face went pinker.

“How about Malfoy and Potter?” said Snape with a twisted smile.

“Excellent idea!” said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the Hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

“Now, Harry,” Draco heard Lockhart tell, “when Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, “Whoops – my wand is a little over-excited.”. Draco could not avoid smirking as well.

Snape chose that moment to move closer to Draco, bent down and whispered his suggestion for an appropriate spell in his ear. Malfoy leered and Harry looked nervously up

at Lockhart and said, “Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?”.

“Scared?” muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn’t hear him. e was positively beaming.

“You wish,” said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry!”

“What, drop my wand?” The dark-haired boy deadpanned, and Draco tried his hardest not to laugh out loud. Potter could be funny, when he chose to be a bit more sassy than usual.

Lockhart wasn’t listening. “Three – two – one – go!” he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “Serpensortia!”

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor. Draco stepped back, satisfied with himself, watching Harry with endless mirth.

_Do you see how capable am I, Potter? I can do this and I can do much more. I’d teach you, if you were my friend. Alas, you aren’t, so you get to admire my abilities and hope you were as good as me._

“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. “I’ll get rid of it …”

“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Harry had a strange, transfixed look and he didn’t seem to be neither sure, nor aware of why his legs were carrying him forward as though he was on castors. And then, he started emitting creepy hissing sounds.

Miraculously – inexplicably – the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. He looked up at Justin, grinning, showing a clear expectation to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful – but certainly not angry and scared.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” Justin shouted, and before Harry could say anything, he had turned and stormed out of the Hall.

As for Draco, he was looking at Harry with eyes as wide as saucers, a disbelieving look twisting his childish features. Potter… a  _parselmouth_ ? That was interesting - and totally unexpected. He thought of all the tales his parents told to him about dark wizards who could speak to snakes - Voldemort himself had this unusual ability - and he found himself gaping even more at Harry.

_So, you do have a dark side hidden deep in yourself,_ Draco thought as a sudden wash of something akin to longing surged in him.  _We could be a frightful source of power together, you and me, if you finally decided to open your eyes and be less stupid._ And then, another sudden thought:  _what else are you hiding from us all? The heir of Slytherin - is that you?_

An inappropriately huge grin spread on his lips as his mind started chanting  _You’re made to be my friend, you’re made for my company, you’re made for me!_ covering all of the other thoughts. If Draco had been looking for some form of confirmation that Harry and him could, in fact, go along one day, to him that was it, clear as the sun.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Draco barely acknowledged him: his gaze was fixed on Harry, a miriad of daydreams of companionship, power and endless glory dancing in his mind.

* * *

On Valentine’s Day, the dwarfs kept barging all day long into their classes to deliver Valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon, as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of them caught up with Harry.

“Oy you! ’Arry Potter!” shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Hot all over at the thought of being given a Valentine in front of a queue of people, Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins, and reached him before he’d gone two paces. “I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ’Arry Potter in person,” he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

“Not here,” Harry hissed, trying to escape.

“Stay still!” grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.

“Let me go!” Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over the lot. Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a hold-up in the corridor.

“What’s going on here?” came the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry, horrified at the idea of giving the blond even more reasons to pick at him, started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical Valentine.

“What’s all this commotion?” said another familiar voice, as Percy Weasley arrived.

Harry, clearly desperate to spare some of his own dignity, tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor. Draco’s gaze danced mirthfully on the scene in front of him and Harry turned his own flaming face away to avoid the sight of the blond boy laughing his ass off whenever the dwarf had finished with him.

“Right,” the creature said, sitting on Harry’s ankles, “here is your singing Valentine:

“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

Draco was the only one who looked mildly amused, and his eyes were roaming again on Harry’s face. The Valentine had not been signed, therefore Harry could not know that the real author of the message was Malfoy himself. Draco studied the other boy’s face, uncertain whether under all the embarrassment the dark-haired boy had been glad of the compliments. Draco had no talent at all for poetry, as he had painfully discovered in the previous nights, when he had secretly worked for hours sittin in his bed with the curtains closed to get a decent message in rhyme. He still was not sure about the blackboard part, but he had had no more time to find other comparations who rhymed with Voldemort’s title.

His mirth somehow did not improve by seeing the misery depicted all over Harry’s face. He was clearly not feeling very flattered by his Valentine, it seemed. Draco’s frustration grew to no end. It was bad enough that he had stooped at writing stupid little poems like a schoolgirl in love, the minimum Potter could do was at least appreciate them.

“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” Percy said, shooing some of the younger students away. “And you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy sneered at the older Weasley and was slowing turning away, when something got his attention; he stopped and snatch up something from the pavement, then showed it to Crabbe and Goyle. It was a diary - Harry’s diary?, he wondered, and leered as he thought about all the things he could find about himself in those pages. Had Harry ever written about Draco? He was sure Harry had, since the other boy’s face had become redder than Weasley’s hair.

“Give that back,” said Harry quietly.

“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” said Malfoy, gleefully. How many pages had Harry written about him? Had he tried to sketch on those pages Draco’s face? Had he poured down his sorrow and regret at not having shaked Draco’s hand on the Hogwarts Express?

A hush fell over the onlookers. The youngest Weasley was standing nearby and she was staring from the diary to Harry, looking...terrified?

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly.

“When I’ve had a look,” said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.  _I’ll know whatever you secretly write of me!_ , was the message he tried to convey, with a big wolfish grin.

Percy said, “As a school Prefect –”, but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!” and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air. Ron, grinning broadly, caught it.

“Harry!” said Percy loudly. “No magic in the corridors. I’ll have to report this, you know!”. Harry didn’t seem to care.

Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, “I don’t think Potter liked your Valentine much!”.

After all the least he could do, after that terrible fiasco, was at least to cover his own traces. He would find other ways to get Potter’s attention.


	3. A monster in his chest

Mid-afternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window of the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Ron heard footsteps in the corridor again, and their three least favourite people appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

“Well, look who it is,” said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door and giving them his best smirk. “Potty and the Weasel.” Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly, but - to Draco’s dismay, Harry did not see happy at all to see him. Evidently he had yet to get tired of Weasley’s company, and that irked him to no end. How came that Weasley, a miserable stupid blood traitor, still got to enjoy Harry’s company and Draco didn’t?

“I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,” said Malfoy, with a petty smirk. “Did your mother die of shock?”

Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks’ basket to the floor, and the man who was sleeping next to him gave a snort.

“Who’s that?” said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backwards as he spotted Lupin.

“New teacher,” said Harry, who had got to his feet, too. “What were you saying, Malfoy?”.

Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed; he wasn’t fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher’s nose. Even Potter was not worth that much, he thought resentfully, glaring at his rival.

“C’mon,” he finally muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.

* * *

As soon as the carriage swayed to a halt, Hermione and Ron got out. As Harry stepped down, a drawling, delighted voice sounded in his ear.

“You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?”

Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry’s way up the stone steps to the castle, his face falsely gleeful and his pale eyes glinting. He had to threaten Neville in order to get the whole story, and that had got him worried. When Draco had visited Harry in his compartment, the dark-haired boy seemed pretty fine to him, so what had happened afterwards? Was he affected so much from the Dementor’s presence? He  _had_ to know. But he also knew that Potter would’ve never believed him if he showed any concern at all, so he had to mask his true intentions behind his usual malice.

“Shove off, Malfoy” said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.

“Did you faint as well, Weasley?” said Malfoy loudly, taunting the redhead just to cover up somewhat better the real reasons behind his enquiring. “Did the scary old Dementor frighten you, too, Weasley?”

“Is there a problem?” said a mild voice. Professor Lupin had just got out of the next carriage and Draco strained not to hiss in displeasure at him. Why did everyone ever feel entitled to throw themselves between him and Potter? He gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the dilapidated suitcase. Clearly the man was no match for his own family’s wealth and influence, should he decide to try to make Draco’s life difficult. With a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said, “Oh, no – er – Professor,” then he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle, and led them up the steps into the castle.

* * *

Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start.

“C’mon, now, get a move on!” he called, as the class approached. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”

Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees, and five minutes later, they found themselves outside a kind of paddock. There was nothing in there.

“Everyone gather round the fence here!” he called. “That’s it – make sure yeh can see. Now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books –”

“How?” Draco Malfoy asked with his usual cold, drawling voice. He made no effort to disguise his own dislike for the half-giant and the subject he teached, despite knowing that - incomprehensibly - the half giant was one of Harry’s friends.

“Eh?” said Hagrid.

“How do we open our books?” Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people took theirs out, too; some, like Harry, had belted their book shut; others had crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with bullclips.

“Hasn’ – hasn’ anyone bin able ter open their books?” said Hagrid, looking crestfallen.

The class all shook their heads.

“Yeh’ve got ter stroke ’em,” said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Look …” He took Hermione’s copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

“Oh, how silly we’ve all been!” Malfoy sneered, sarcasm heavily dripping from his own words. “We should have stroked them! Why didn’t we guess!”

“I … I thought they were funny,” Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.

“Oh, tremendously funny!” said Malfoy, starting to enjoy how much Hagrid was looking downcast by now. “Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Harry quietly, and for once Draco did not answer back. 

“Righ’ then,” said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, “so… so yeh’ve got yer books an’ … an’ … now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ’em. Hang on …” He strode away from them into the Forest and out of sight.

“God, this place is going to the dogs,” said Malfoy loudly, showing off all his aristocratic contempt. “That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him –”

“Shut up, Malfoy” Harry repeated, and Draco sent him a glare, feeling mildly irritated. Why did Potter have to defend such an incompetent teacher?

“Careful, Potter, there’s a Dementor behind you –” He started to tease.

“Oooooooh!” squealed Lavender Brown, pointing towards the opposite side of the paddock.

Trotting towards them were a dozen of bizarre creatures: they had the bodies, hind legs and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-coloured beaks and large, brilliantly orange eyes. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

“Gee up, there!” he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures towards the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence. “Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

Nobody answered, watching rather fearfully those imponent creatures and their deadly-looking talons.

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer …”

No one seemed to want to. Harry, Ron and Hermione, however, approached the fence cautiously. Draco, in the meanwhile, refused to listen to that farce of a lesson and began to talk in an undertone to Crabbe and Goyle, wondering about any good way to furtherly disrupt the lesson.

“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ Hippogriffs is they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ’cause it might be the last thing yeh do. Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs’ move, it’s polite, see? Yeh walk towards him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ’cause those talons hurt. Right – who wants ter go first?”

Most of the class backed further away in answer. Even Harry, Ron and Hermione had misgivings, and sure as hell Draco was not going first either - he definitely wanted to live a long life, thank you very much. 

“No one?” said Hagrid, with a pleading look.

“I’ll do it,” said Harry, and he climbed over the paddock fence. Draco did his best not to show the panic that was instantly gripping his throat - what was that idiot thinking? He was going to be mortally wounded by that savage beast, and what could Draco do to avoid Harry being killed with a slash of those ugly talons? What would Draco do if -

“Good man, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Right then – let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.”

He untied one of the chains, pulled the grey Hippogriff away from his fellows and slipped off his leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Draco’s eyes were narrowed as he tried to frenetically calculate how long would it take for himself to draw up the wand and stun the creature, should it try something nasty towards Harry.

“Easy now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink - Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yen blink too much…”

Harry’s eyes were clearly watering, but he didn’t shut them. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head, and was staring at Harry with one fierce orange eye. 

“Tha’s it,” said Hagrid. “Tha’s it, Harry … now, bow …”

Harry didn’t feel much like exposing the back of his neck to Buckbeak, but he did as he was told. He gave a short bow and then looked up. The Hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn’t move. Draco felt his own throat totally close and started to pull out his wand from the pocket, trying not to catch anyone’s attention while he did it.

“Ah,” said Hagrid, sounding worried. “Right – back away, now, Harry, easy does it –”

But then, to everybody’s enormous surprise, the Hippogriff suddenly bent his scaly front knees, and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.

“Well done, Harry!” said Hagrid, ecstatic. “Right – yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!”

Harry moved slowly towards the Hippogriff and reached out towards him. He patted the beak several times and the Hippogriff closed his eyes lazily, as though enjoying it.

The class broke into applause, all except for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Draco made a special effort to look deeply disappointed while internally sighing, relieved for the avoided danger. In a moment, his wand disappeared again in his pocket. 

“Righ’ then, Harry,” said Hagrid, “I reckon he migh’ let yeh ride him! Yeh climb up there, jus’ behind the wing joint,” said Hagrid, “an’ mind yeh don’ pull any of his feathers out, he won’ like that …”

He might let him  _what_ ? Draco panicked again and stood still, watching Harry put his foot on the top of Buckbeak’s wing and hoist himself onto his back. Buckbeak stood up. 

“Go on, then!” roared Hagrid, slapping the Hippogriffs hindquarters. Draco was sure he was going to faint and he viciously grabbed Crabbe’s arm while watching in horror as the Hippogriff’s twelve-foot wings flapped open on either side of Harry; the dark-haired boy just had time to seize the Hippogriff around the neck before he was soaring upwards. Despite Malfoy’s worst fear, all went on without any incident; Buckbeak flew Harry once around the paddock and then headed back to the ground.

“Good work, Harry!” roared Hagrid, as once again everyone except Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle cheered. “OK, who else wants a go?”

Emboldened by Harry’s success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the Hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock, while Harry watched.

Draco glared at Harry, a bit jealous for his previous show off and definitely resentful for having let himself show his own minions some kind of weakness. What could he do to get Harry’s attention?, he wondered, longing for the other boy to notice him and stare at him in admiration. Draco quickly decided to take over Buckbeak, approaching him with Crabbe and Goyle, who could at least try to defend him in case something went wrong. But Buckbeak bowed to Malfoy and let him pat his beak, even if the boy was still looking somehow disdainful. It was time to get Harry’s attention, he thought with a spike of pride.

“This is very easy,” Malfoy drawled, loud enough for Harry to hear him, and to his immense satisfaction the dark-haired boy had turned to watch him. “I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it … I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?” he said to the Hippogriff. “Are you, you ugly great brute?”

It happened in a flash of steely talons; Draco let out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at the boy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.

“I’m dying!” Draco yelled in panic, as the class panicked. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!”. There was a long, deep gash in Malfoy’s arm and blood was splattering the grass. It hurt a lot, but above all he was drowning in shame. He had ridiculed himself in front of Harry. He was never looking at Potter’s face again, he promised to himself. He was sure he would’ve seen pity, and Draco did not want to be pitied.

“Yer not dyin’!” said Hagrid, who had gone very white. “Someone help me – gotta get him outta here –” Hermione ran to open the gate while Hagrid lifted Malfoy easily and ran with him, up the slope towards the castle.

* * *

Malfoy didn’t reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions.

He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting as though he was the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle. It was clearly an act to get Harry’s attention, obviously - but he would’ve rather died than admit that. Still, getting Harry to glare at him all the time was quite pleasurable.

“How is it, Draco?” simpered Pansy Parkinson. “Does it hurt much?”

“Yeah,” said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace in front of her, than winking at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away. Harry was glaring at him worse than ever, and for a moment Draco gleefully wondered if Potter was jealous of him talking to others.

“Settle down, settle down,” said Professor Snape idly. 

_See, Potter? Privileges,_ Draco thought, sending a lazy smirk in Harry and Ron’s general direction. Snape wouldn’t have said “settle down” if they’d walked in late, he’d have given them detention. Draco, instead, had always been able to get away with anything in Snape’s classes; Snape was Head of Slytherin house, and generally favoured his own students before all others. And had Harry accepted Draco’s offer of friendship at the beginning of their first year, maybe Snape wouldn’t have been so keen on punishing him for every minimal transgression. 

They were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Draco set up his cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, so that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table. There was no better occasion for him to annoy Weasley and get to chat a bit with Harry, after all, so he immediately start to act as annoyingly as possible.

“Sir,” Malfoy called, “sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm –”

“Weasley, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him,” said Snape, without looking up. Ron went brick red.

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” he hissed at Malfoy.

Draco smirked lazily across the table. “Weasley, you heard Professor Snape, cut up these roots.” Ron seized his knife, pulled Malfoy’s roots towards him and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes. Draco had expected this; in fact, he had even  _counted_ on it. “Professor,” drawled Draco, “Weasley’s mutilating my roots, sir.”

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.

“Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley.”

“But sir –!” Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.

“Now,” said Snape in his most dangerous voice.

Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, then took up the knife again. Draco smirked, ignoring the murderous gaze of the redhead. “And, sir, I’ll need this Shrivelfig skinned,” he said, his voice full of malicious laughter.

“Potter, you can skin Malfoy’s Shrivelfig,” said Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserved just for him.

Harry took Malfoy’s Shrivelfig as Ron set about trying to repair the damage to the roots he now had to use. Harry skinned the Shrivelfig as fast as he could and flung it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Draco was smirking more broadly than ever, and got a bit closer to the other boy, carefully watching his handsome face.

“Seen your pal Hagrid lately?” he asked them quietly, reeling in their discomfort.

“None of your business,” said Ron jerkily, without looking up.

“I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer,” said Malfoy, in a tone of mock sorrow, teasing Harry. He resisted the temptation to put his own hand on the other boy’s arm only to get more of his attention. “Father’s not very happy about my injury –”

“Keep talking, Malfoy, and I’ll give you a real injury,” snarled Ron. 

“– he’s complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father’s got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this –” he gave a huge, fake sigh, “who knows if my arm’ll ever be the same again?”.

_Are you worried for me now?_ Draco wondered, and for a moment he daydreamed about Potter pulling him in his own arms and kissing his bandages, much like a mother would do to her own son, or like a boyfriend would -

“So that’s why you’re putting it on,” said Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand was shaking in anger. “To try and get Hagrid sacked.” Draco stared at the caterpillar’s head and frowned.  _Oh well._ _If I can’t get your affection, I’ll take your anger, for now._ He still didn’t get how Harry could love someone who was not Draco himself.

“Well,” said Malfoy, lowering his voice to a whisper “partly, Potter. But there are other benefits, too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me.”

“Hey, Harry,” said Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow Harry’s brass scales, “have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning – they reckon Sirius Black’s been sighted.”

“Where?” said Harry and Ron quickly. On the other side of the table, Malfoy looked up, listening closely. He was pretty much annoyed at Finnigan for stealing away Harry’s attention from him, but what he was saying was far more interesting than their previous bickering.

“Not too far from here,” said Seamus, who looked excited. “It was a Muggle who saw him. ’Course, she didn’t really understand. The Muggles think he’s just an ordinary criminal, don’t they? So she ’phoned the telephone hotline. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone.”

“Not too far from here …” Ron repeated, looking significantly at Harry before realizing that Draco was still watching closely. “What, Malfoy? Need something else skinning?”

But Malfoy’s eyes were shining malevolently, and they were fixed on Harry. He leaned across the table, getting nearer to the dark-haired boy and grinning at him. Oh, this was precious. This was all he needed to get under Harry’s skin, like he desidered. “Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Harry offhandedly. Draco’s thin mouth was curving in a mean smile, and he caught Harry glimpsing briefly at it.  _Good_ . _Watch me as much as you like._

“Of course, if it was me,” he said quietly, licking his own lips in an almost coquettish way “I’d have done something before now. I wouldn’t be staying in school like a good boy, I’d be out there looking for him.”

“What are you talking about, Malfoy?” said Ron roughly.

“Don’t you know, Potter?” breathed Draco, his pale eyes narrowed, and he leaned impossibly close to Harry. The other boy looked torn between confusion and anger, and he kept glaring at Malfoy’s cruel mouth. “Know what?”

Draco let out a low, sneering laugh. “Maybe you’d rather not risk your neck,” he said. “Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you? But if it was me, I’d want revenge. I’d hunt him down myself.”

“What are you talking about?” said Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape called, “You should have finished adding your ingredients by now. This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk; clear away while it simmers and then we’ll test Longbottom’s …”

* * * 

He should’ve expected Potter to receive another broom. Saint Potter, the teachers’ favourite pet and Gryffindor’s seeker star. Of course Potter could not stay long without a broom of his own, could he? And not a common broom - a  _Firebolt_ . The best broom on the market - even better than Draco’s Nimbus 2001. 

Draco’s jealousy spiked when he saw Weasley standing next to Harry, glancing amazed at Harry’s broom.  _That spot should be mine_ , he thought with rage and vindictiveness. He should be the one standing next to Harry, rejoicing with him as a best friend would do, spending his free time telling each other their secrets...

“Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?” said Draco, with his best cold, drawling voice.

He had arrived for a closer look, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.

“Yeah, reckon so,” said Harry casually.

“Got plenty of special features, hasn’t it?” said Malfoy, eyes glittering while glancing at his rival’s face. Oh Merlin, if only he wasn’t so cute. So handsome, even, although he always knew how to get under Draco’s skin. “Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute – in case you get too near a Dementor.” Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

“Pity you can’t attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy,” said Harry. “Then it could catch the Snitch for you.”

The Gryffindor team laughed loudly. Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed, and he stalked away, even angrier than before. How dared Potter mock him? How dared he! He had caught the snitch both in the matches against the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. The only person who had been able to beat him had been Harry, and how dared him to mock Draco for it in his own face! He should feel honored to have an equal who could stand up to him!

He was still fuming when he rejoined the rest of the Slytherin team, who put their heads together, asking Draco whether Harry’s broom really was a Firebolt.

* * *

It was their first match against Ravenclaw, and Harry was rapidly winning, gaining on the Snitch with every second – then –

“Oh!” screamed Cho, pointing down. 

Draco, who had been standing on Goyle’s shoulders, smirked under the long black robes he was wearing. It had been his plan all along - to make three tall, black, hooded Dementors “appear” during the match, scaring Potter senseless. Crabbe and Marcus Flint had wholeheartedly agreed to mask themselves along with Goyle and him, so Draco had spent several nights handcrafting the robes they needed and organizing the whole charade. 

His own pride still stung enough for the way Potter used to mock him - he, who should spend his time with people like Draco, instead of hanging out with losers! It was clear that Potter deserved all he got from Draco.

In the beginning, their plan seemed to work, since Harry seemed distracted and mildly distraught as he looked down and saw three tall black-robed Dementors looking up at him.

However, despite Malfoy’s previsions, he didn’t hesitate at all and didn’t stop to think. Plunging a hand down the neck of his robes, he whipped out his wand and roared, “Expecto patronum!”. Something silver white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wand, shot directly at the Dementors. Potter didn’t even pause to watch; he stretched out the hand still grasping his wand and just managed to close his fingers over the small, struggling Snitch.

Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded and while all the Gryffindors in the crowd were roaring and the whole Gryffindor quidditch team kept hugging and cheering for Potter, Draco and his friends were not having a good time. Taken by surprise by Harry’s Patronus, the three “Dementors” had fallen on the ground, kicking and screaming and making an utter laughing stock of themselves. However, the worst of it all came when, as soon as the Gryffindor quidditch team managed to make their way back to the ground and get off their broom, surrounded by a cheering crowd, Lupin lead Potter to the edge of the pitch, to see Draco and the others.

“You gave Mr Malfoy quite a fright,” Draco heard Lupin say, and he hated him even more than before for it. Potter was staring astonished at them and Draco felt miserable. With a snarl of humiliation and frustration, he fought to extricate himself from the robe. He had been standing on Goyle’s shoulders for the charade, and Goyle’s head was still stuck inside the robe - not that he really cared that much about him. Lying beside him in a crumpled heap on the ground were Crabbe and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain, and they were struggling as well to remove themselves from their long, black, hooded robes. 

Standing over the four Slytherins, with an expression of the utmost fury on her face, was Professor McGonagall. “An unworthy trick!” she was shouting. “A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!”. Her words already stung as they were, but they were made even worse by Potter’s glare, that  _reeked_ of delusion and anger, and Weasley’s laughter.

“Come on, Harry!” Draco heard one of the Weasley twins say cheerily. “Party! Gryffindor common room, now!”

“Right,” said Harry, and he turned his back to Draco, who was feeling more miserable than ever, as he and the rest of the team led the way, still in their scarlet robes, out of the stadium and back up to the castle.

* * *

As he was climbing from one side of the hill upon which stood the Shrieking Shack, Malfoy kept on talking to Crabbe and Goyle, bragging as he usually did. They were too stupid anyway to fully understand all he usually talked about.

“…should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the hearing to tell them about my arm… about how I couldn’t use it for three months…” Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. “I really wish I could hear that great hairy moron trying to defend himself… ‘There’s no ’arm in ’im , ’onest –’ …that Hippogriff’s as good as dead –”

Malfoy suddenly caught sight of Ron and his pale face split in a malevolent grin. There always was some good reason to tease the cretin, after all, right? 

“What are you doing, Weasley?” Draco looked up at the crumbling house behind Ron and smirked. “Suppose you’d love to live here, wouldn’t you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room – is that true?”

Weasley looked as if he was ready to fight him, but for some reasons he stopped himself from reacting. Such a pity - Crabbe and Goyle could’ve had an easy victory against the redhead. It was still worth a try - maybe he could still have a chance at riling him up.

“We were just discussing your friend Hagrid,” He said to Ron. “Just trying to imagine what he’s saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D’you think he’ll cry when they cut off his Hippogriff’s –”

SPLAT!

Draco’s head jerked forwards as a handful of mud hit him; his silver-blond hair was suddenly dripping in muck. “What the –?”

Weasley had to hold onto the fence to keep himself standing, he was laughing so hard. Why was he laughing? There had to be someone hidden helping him. Hiding behind the trees, maybe?... Draco, Crabbe and Goyle spun on the spot, staring wildly around, as Draco was trying to wipe his hair clean. “What was that? Who did that?”

“Very haunted up here, isn’t it?” said Weasley, with the utterly unnerving air of one commenting on the weather.

Crabbe and Goyle were looking scared, since their bulging muscles were no use against ghosts. Draco began to stare madly around at the deserted landscape. All was quiet and silent, exception made for Ron’s laughter.

And then, again - SPLATTER!

Crabbe and Goyle caught some of the foul-smelling, green sludge this time. Goyle hopped furiously on the spot, trying to rub it out of his small, dull eyes.

“It came from over there!” said Draco, wiping his face, and staring at a generic spot in the direction from the sludge had come. Crabbe blundered forwards, his long arms outstretched like a zombie… and a stick levitated and hit Crabbe’s back. Crabbe did a kind of pirouette in mid-air, trying to see who had thrown it. As Ron was the only person Crabbe could see, it was Ron he started towards, but he stumbled – and for a moment it seemed as if his huge, flat foot caught the hem of something. 

For a split second, Draco stared at Potter’s face, just appeared suddenly in front of him.

“AAARGH!” he yelled, pointing at Harry’s head. Then he turned tail and ran, at breakneck speed, back down the hill, Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

* * *

Some days later, Gryffindors and Slytherins were walking back up to the castle with the rest of the class. Ahead of them was Draco, who was walking with Crabbe and Goyle and kept looking back, laughing derisively at the trio he always despised - Ron, Harry and Hermione. To be honest, he  _really_ despised only two of them. Potter was the only component of the trio he could ever imagine to reconcile with. His gaze flickered briefly on Potter’s lips, just before being distracted from what he heard.

“’S’no good, Ron,” Draco heard Hagrid say sadly as they reached the castle steps. “That Committee’s in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket. I’m jus’ gonna make sure the rest o’ Beaky’s time is the happiest he’s ever had. I owe him that …” Hagrid turned round and hurried back towards his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief. 

A perfect time to get Potter’s attention, indeed.

“Look at him blubber!” Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had been standing just inside the castle doors, listening. To Draco’s malicious satisfaction, Harry got his “Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic? And he’s supposed to be our teacher!”

Harry and Ron both made furious moves towards Draco, but Hermione got there first – SMACK!

She had slapped Draco around the face with all the strength she could muster. Draco staggered. Harry, Ron, Crabbe and Goyle stood flabbergasted as Hermione raised her hand again. “Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul – you evil –”

“Hermione!” said Ron weakly, and he tried to grab her hand as she swung it back.

“Get off, Ron!”

Hermione pulled out her wand. Draco stepped backwards. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered. His cheek burned as hell, but his own pride burned much stronger under Harry’s gaze. Just for a moment he wondered if the dark-haired boy was going to say something in his defence - but no, Potter would’ve never defended him against his own friends. Not when he had rejected Draco’s handshake and had made his stance clear upon it. Not a word of approvation from Harry, not a word of sympathy or cordiality. It was pretty much clear that, even in that moment, he was not interested in defending Draco or - Merlin forbid! - assessing if Granger had left permanent damage on his features. Maybe sometime, somewhere, in a parallel universe, there was a Potter who was tenderly caressing Draco’s reddened cheek, before coming nearer and kissing the spot...

“C’mon,” Draco muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, his cheeks redder and redder by the moment, and after a handful of seconds all three of them had disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons. 

“Just you wait until your father knows about it, Draco” Crabbe gloated. “She will be expelled in a matter of moments! Maybe she’ll even get arrested for harming a pureblood like you!”.

“Oh, do shut up, Crabbe. My father will NOT hear about this, ever, do you understand it? I will have my own revenge, and I’ll make it even sweeter!” Malfoy snarled, irritated, and said no more, refusing to answer each of Crabbe and Goyle’s questions on the way to their dormitory. As soon as he went through the opening in the wall, he barked “Do not follow me. I’ll go to the room and I do not want to be disturbed. You can stay here on the sofas, do whatever you want, I don’t care, just do. not. come. and. bother. me. Have I been clear?”. 

As his confused minions nodded, Draco climbed down the stairs that got to the room where the Slytherins of the third year slept - now mercifully empty - and threw himself on the bed. 

How could he say in front of their faces that he could not tell his father that Granger had slapped him just because his father would’ve insulted him? A Malfoy does not let halfbloods or mudbloods hit him. A Malfoy always keeps his own dignity high. A Malfoy… should not have acted like he had been acting, making a fool of himself just to tease and get a reaction from Potter. That stupid boy! He should have never been neither in Draco’s thoughts, nor dreams. Draco shouldn’t have been glimpsing at his mouth, or at his smile, or at his emerald eyes… He shouldn’t have been considering him as if he was his equal. And still, Draco still wondered if Harry could have shaked hands with him and learned to love him for who he was, Draco for being  _Draco_ and not a Malfoy… No Crabbe and Goyle, no Weasley and Granger, only them in their little world, where Harry always looked gently at him and tenderly kept him near… And Draco’s mouth wouldn’t have been spitting cruel words, because he wouldn’t have been competing with anyone to get Harry’s attention...

A solitary tear escaped Draco’s eyes, and nobody was there to witness it.

* * *

On the morning of their next match, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall to enormous applause. Harry couldn’t help grinning broadly as both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were clapping them, too. The Slytherin table hissed loudly as they passed. Draco looked even paler than usual and didn’t even watch his rival.

Wood, the annoying git, spent the whole of breakfast urging his team to eat, while touching nothing himself; then he hurried them off to the pitch before anyone else had finished, so they could get an idea of the conditions. As the team left the Great Hall, everyone applauded again. Draco’s eyes were secretly fixed on Harry’s back all the time, a sneer on his lips. He had to win. He had to, this time. For his own dignity, and for...

“Good luck, Harry!” he heard Cho Chang say loudly, and - to Draco’s horror - Harry blushed. 

As Wood went on walking and bubbling “OK … no wind to speak of … sun’s a bit bright, that could impair your vision, watch out for it … ground’s fairly hard, good, that’ll give us a fast kick-off …” Draco, from the other side of the room, stared darkly at Harry, feeling a monster roaring inside his chest. So what? Chang was a good seeker. Draco, though, was much better. Chang had good marks? Draco’s marks were even better - in fact, he was the second most brilliant student of the castle. Had not Granger been there, he would’ve been the best one. Chang was not deserving neither Potter’s attention, nor his friendship.

And still… even if Draco was much better than her... Potter had not blushed for him. 

The monster in his chest roared again.

Some time after the beginning of the match, the Gryffindor crowd below was screaming itself hoarse – Gryffindors were sixty points in the lead, and if Harry caught the Snitch now, the Cup was theirs. Draco could almost feel hundreds of eyes following him and Harry as they soared around the pitch, high above the rest of the game, with Draco speeding along just behind Harry.

And then they saw it. The Snitch was sparkling twenty feet above them.

Harry put on a huge burst of speed; he stretched out his hand, but Draco could not let him win - he threw himself forward, grabbed hold of the Firebolt’s tail and pulled it back. The Firebolt slowed down and Harry looked around, seemingly horrified when he realized what Draco had been doing.

“You –” Harry was angry enough to hit Draco, but he couldn’t reach. The blond boy was panting with the effort of holding onto the Firebolt, but his eyes were sparkling maliciously. He had achieved what he’d wanted – the Snitch had disappeared again.

“Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I’ve never seen such tactics!” Madam Hooch screeched, shooting up to where Draco was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

“YOU CHEATING SCUM!” Lee Jordan was howling into the megaphone, dancing out of Professor McGonagall’s reach. “YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B –” Professor McGonagall didn’t even bother to tell him off. She was actually shaking her fist in Draco’s direction; her hat had fallen off, and she, too, was shouting furiously.

Alicia took Gryffindor’s penalty, but she was so angry she missed by several feet. The Gryffindor team was losing concentration and the Slytherins, delighted by Draco’s foul on Harry, were being spurred on to greater heights.

“Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal – Montague scores –” Lee groaned. “Seventy–twenty to Gryffindor …”

Harry was now marking Draco so closely their knees kept hitting each other - not that Draco didn’t really mind. Harry wasn’t going to let Draco anywhere near the Snitch, but Draco wasn’t going to let Harry’s attention wander anywhere else. And it was fun for a while, getting Potter on his tail, always searching for him, always following him around. 

After a while, though, it became a little irritating.

“Get out of it, Potter!” Draco yelled in frustration, as he tried to turn and found Harry blocking him.

“Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!”

Since every single Slytherin player apart from Draco, even the Slytherin Keeper, was streaking up the pitch towards Angelina – they were all going to block her – Harry wheeled the Firebolt about, bent so low he was lying flat along the handle and kicked it forwards. Like a bullet, he shot towards the Slytherins, much to Draco’s surprise and indignation.

“AAAAAAARRRGH!” They scattered as the Firebolt zoomed towards them; Angelina’s way was clear.

“SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor lead by eighty points to twenty!”

Harry, who had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in mid-air, reversed and zoomed back into the middle of the pitch. It was a matter of seconds before he saw Draco, who was diving, a look of triumph on his face – there, a few feet above the grass below, was a tiny, golden glimmer. Harry urged the Firebolt downwards but Draco was miles ahead. Although Harry had been gaining on Draco, it was clearly not enough.

Draco saw him getting nearer and nearer with the corner of the eyes, he saw him flatten himself to the broom handle as Bole sent a Bludger at him… Harry was at Draco’s ankles … he was level, but it was almost too late... Draco felt the taste of triumph in his mouth already, he could show Harry he was the best choice for him, the best seeker among them all, the only one who could be on his level - and then Harry threw himself forwards, taking both hands off his broom. He knocked Draco’s arm out of the way and –

“YES!”

Harry pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium exploded. Harry soared above the crowd, the tiny golden ball held tight in his fist, Draco’s hopes and heart crushed in the palm of his hand. Again.


End file.
